


Always Faithful

by SpaceCadetGlow



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, BDSM, Domination, M/M, Military Kink, Military Uniforms, Oral Sex, Sadism, Shoe Kink, Switching, Uniform Kink, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCadetGlow/pseuds/SpaceCadetGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Switching scene with military kink.  Nelson humiliating and domming HJ while in his Marines dress uniform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the USMC motto, Semper Fidelis. Originally written for the Watchmen kinkmeme, which exists in its current iteration here: http://watchmen-km.dreamwidth.org/287.html. If you enjoy this story, please leave a comment; feedback makes my day!

The city air presses down thickly some nights, choking decent men and women more tightly than a noose. Only a few are unaffected, and these nights belong to them, to crime and depravity. He can't stop them, not every time, so he trudges back towards safe walls and warm lights and thanks God for small comforts. He knows that all he has to do is ask Nelson to wear the uniform tonight -- not the gaudy costume, the _other_ one -- and he can let go of it all for a little while.

~*~*~*~*~

What had once started as pridefully showing off his dress cap turned into an incredible night, raw and needful. The next time, it had been the full dress Blues, and while Nelson felt like he was somehow sullying something good and right, the way Rolf looked at him, wordlessly surrendering his constant control, had been too much to resist. One of his most prized possessions, the uniform stays neatly pressed in the closet until it's asked for. Tonight, Nelson puts it on carefully: the crisp white shirt, the blue pants with their signature red stripe, the dark jacket with gleaming brass buttons and red piping, the black shoes. He belts his jacket at the waist, adjusts his cap, and works his fingers into spotless white gloves.

In the other room, Rolf waits.

~*~*~*~*~

The man who walks through the door is not the same person Rolf is used to. This is a soldier, imposing and strong, ready and willing to discipline. Nelson exudes a cruel confidence as he sneers down at his waiting charge. 

"You look pretty on your knees, Private," he says. The staccato of each slow step forward is deafening in Rolf's ears. "Very pretty indeed. But, let's be honest." Rolf shivers, and it's not because of his nakedness in the cool room. A bright white glove reaches towards him; knuckles softly brush his cheek, then fingers trail upwards to to stroke at his scalp. It's too gentle, so gentle it's almost unbearable, but he knows that soon enough that will change. "Is there anything worth a pin in here? Hmmm? When I ask you a question, you will _answer_ it, Private!"

"Ich weiß nicht, Herr Gardner," he murmurs. 

Nelson cuffs him hard. "In English, you moronic Hun!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't know, sir," Rolf corrects himself. 

"Don't you? It seems very clear to me. Still, you don't need brains for everything," he says contemplatively. "I'm sure I can come up with some use for you. You can shine my shoes, Private, starting with your mouth."

In a few quick strides, Nelson finds himself a chair and sternly watches Rolf crawl over. "Oaf! Hurry up!" Rolf prostrates himself at Nelson's feet and presses his mouth to the black shoes. He gladly inhales the scent of the leather as he sweeps his tongue over every inch until they gleam. A jar of polish is pressed into his hand; he carefully applies it with a soft rag.

"If I see you've missed a spot, you're going to lick it off and start again," Nelson warns him. He doesn't miss any. 

"It's done, sir."

"I'm sure you couldn't have mucked it up too badly, but we'll have to wait and see. While that dries, I want you do show me what your body can do." Nelson flicks his left sleeve back and checks his watch. "It's going to take about ten minutes. Until then..." -- his eyes sweep up and down Rolf's body appraisingly -- "push-ups."

Still facing Nelson, Rolf gets down and begins, his motions smooth and easy. Down, up, down, up. It feels good to work his muscles, to do something physical to help him clear his mind.

"Five minutes," Nelson drawls. He's lounging comfortably back in his chair, clearly enjoying what he's seeing. "Eyes _down_ , Private."

"Yes, sir," Rolf quickly responds. He's sure Nelson just doesn't want him to see that he's aroused; he knows that Nelly gets off on this just as much as he does, and for that reason he keeps his eyes locked on the ground. Nelson keeps counting down the minutes, and around three minutes remaining, Rolf starts to really feel the strain. Sweat begins to bead on his forehead, and of course, Nelson chooses that time to plant his shoe firmly on Rolf's shoulder.

"Not getting tired, are you?" He can hear the smirk in Nelson's voice.

"No, sir."

"Really," Nelson says sarcastically, and pushes down harder, the shoe digging in at the base of Rolf's neck. "Carry on, then." He can do it, there's no doubt about that, but it's getting difficult. His arms are tiring, and it would be so much easier to succumb to Nelson's force and allow himself to collapse on the ground. But he won't let himself -- he at least has to try, or show how worthless he really is.

"One minute."

He has to keep going, he _has_ to. Failure means letting everyone down, failure means people dying, failure means he has to atone with pain...

"Time's up," Nelson announces. He presses his foot down, finally forcing Rolf to lie prone and panting on the floor. "You'd better not be too tired to finish, not after that. That was nothing." A horsehair brush clatters down next to Rolf's head, followed by another cloth. "Make them shine, Private."

"Yes, sir," Rolf says, finally bringing his breathing back to normal. He buffs the shoes with the brush, then brings out a high luster with the cloth. The shoes gleam beautifully by the time he is done.

"Let's have a look," says Nelson, bringing his feet up to rest, crossed, on Rolf's left shoulder. He turns his ankles, checking each side for any flaws. "I suppose that's acceptable." The corners of his mouth turn upwards, minutely. 

Nelson slowly rises, the smile not reaching his eyes, cold as chips of blue ice. Rolf keeps his own eyes straight ahead as Nelson makes a leisurely half-circle around him. A moment later, he's sprawling on his face, Nelson's kick still smarting between his shoulder blades.

"Pathetic," he hears Nelson murmur, punctuated by a small clinking sound. "A sad case like you is barely worth my time. Don't you agree, Private?"

"Yes, sir." 

"Yes," Nelson repeats. "I'm so glad you feel the same. We both know that nothing's going to change, no matter what happens here tonight. Yet here I am, indulging you and your sick little needs."

Rolf swallows, but it doesn't help his dry throat feel any better. "Thank you, sir. This private appreciates your indulgence."

"You'd damn well better," he snaps. "Now. Hands and knees, and the second you buckle, I'm walking out of this room to find a better use for my time. Understand?"

Rolf locks his elbows and tells himself that he's just imagining the fatigue in his arms and back. "Yes, sir." The first strike falls as the words die on his lips, Nelson's belt cracking loudly upon impact with his back. Again and again, each lash stinging harder than the last. Nelson leaves no expanse of flesh unpunished, striking Rolf's thighs, back, and buttocks with no sense of order or predicability.

"Is this _helping_ , son?" mocks Nelson, granting Rolf a brief reprieve from the lashing. "Are you starting to feel better?"

"It-- it feels good, sir." Rolf's elbows are growing tired, but his cock is rigid. He's not sure if Nelson can see it, but he's sure he knows. Nelly knows just how this feels, which is why he's so good at taking charge when Rolf needs him to.

Nelson gives a short, soft laugh. "You're lucky to have me here, you know." He hears Nelson get down, kneeling next to him. "What I'm doing to you probably won't leave any permanent damage." Gloveless fingers stroke at one of the scars on Rolf's leg -- then sharp fingernails dig into the spot where healthy skin meets scar tissue. The pain elicits a hiss from him, and draws up memories he'd rather forget. These scars will always be with him, a constant reminder of his own worthlessness. "Yes, you're very lucky you didn't have to take things into your own hands. What would you do next, I wonder? Start cutting off fingers?" He stands again, not seeming to mind Rolf's silence.

Rolf almost misses what Nelson says, very quietly -- "I'm glad you don't have to do that to yourself" -- before the belt hits him again. His over-sensitized flesh burns even worse this time, and he can't keep himself from crying out, a strangled moan each time the leather connects with his skin. 

"That's right, scream for me, sugar." The lust is audible in Nelson's voice, eagerness replacing that perfect control.

Rolf's arms are beginning to tremble, both from the strain of supporting himself and because he's seconds away from begging Nelson to touch him. But he doesn't dare give in to either desire -- he knows Nelson will make good on his promise to leave, and he also knows that begging will cause Nelson to make him wait even longer. He goes on suffering stoically -- and isn't that what he wanted, after all?

The belt stops coming down on him, and Rolf hears Nelson breathing heavily. He can't resist sneaking a look behind him to see what Nelson looks like. 

He's beautiful, and terrifying. His face is flushed and his cap is slightly askew; he clutches at the belt with the one hand still housed in a white glove. His erection swells against the clean lines of his trousers. 

"Haven't I told you, eyes down?" he screams, his eyes gleaming with something akin to madness. 

Rolf immediately drops his gaze. "I'm sorry, sir. I just wanted to look at you."

"Look at me?" Nelson laughs. "You think you deserve to look at me?" One final lash lands at the base of Rolf's skull, surprising him almost enough to make him collapse. "I'm going to tear you open for that, you worthless little worm."

The belt drops with a heavy clank. Nelson moves behind him, kneeling down; out of the corner of his eye, Rolf glimpses a flash of white. "Knees apart," Nelson demands. He shifts his aching legs obediently, and shudders as a spit-slicked finger pushes into him without hesitation or ceremony. All he can think of is how aroused Nelson looked moments before, of the outline of his cock where it strained at his uniform. He wonders if Nelson is going to fuck him, considering it with equal parts of hope and trepidation. 

A second finger stretches him -- it's too much, too quickly, and Nelson knows it, hears him gasp at the feeling. "Maybe if you weren't so impudent, you'd be allowed something to make this easier. But," he says, forcing the two fingers further in, "I'm not even close to filling you up. When you start bleeding... that should help."

Nelson twists his fingers, causing Rolf to make a noise embarrassingly like a whimper. A gob of spit lands between his buttocks, trickling down to Nelson's hand. A third fingertip begins probing at his entrance; he can't hold the noise in, it _hurts_. 

"Afraid of a little pain, Private?" Nelson sneers. "You have no idea how much worse it could be. It could have been my prick, not a few measly fingers. Don't think I couldn't force my whole goddamn hand in there if I wanted to, coward. You don't deserve for it to be easy."

He's starting to sweat again, salty beads dripping down into his eyes. "I know I don't deserve it, sir. I don't deserve any of this," he pants. Rolf has no idea how Nelson handles things like this and even begs for more from him; he just can't seem to handle it himself. 

Nelson echoes his thoughts, as though he can read them clear as ink on a page. "You really can't do this, can you? What a goddamn disappointment you are."

"I'm sorry, sir, I know I'm letting you down," he says, the shame creeping through every inch of his body, like he's shrinking down to nothing.

"Do you really? Can that miniscule brain of yours really understand how inadequate you are? Does an insect know how insignificant it is, Private?"

His voice comes out as a whisper. "I don't know, sir."

"No, of course not. It _doesn't_ , and that's exactly why you don't, either."

"Sir, if you would let me have some oil, anything to help, I can do better. Please, I swear I can do better," he begs. 

Behind him, Nelson is feeling around for something, only one hand keeping contact with Rolf, still holding him open. "And what makes you think I'm interested in helping you?" Rolf's heart sinks to the ground; all he wants to do is please Nelson, show that he can do something right. "I'm not going to waste my time back here," says Nelson. "Let's see if this can't help open you up." His fingers scrape on their way out, and are replaced by something thick but mercifully wet. The toy sinks into him much further than Nelson had been able to reach, pressing up against a spot that sends a shock of pleasure through him.

"I need you to hold that there. Can you do that for me?" he says in a soft, high voice, as if he's speaking to a child. 

"Yes, sir," Rolf answers quickly. It's large enough that it's not hard to keep in place, but he squeezes his legs together just in case.

"On your knees, then." Rolf all but collapses back onto his heels, flexing the soreness out of his arms. Nelson moves around to face him, regarding him with disdain. His eyes flicker down to Rolf's cock, and a nasty grin tugs at the corners of Nelson's mouth. "I thought you liked this, Private. Why are you still soft?"

Rolf swallows and looks away, Nelson's condescension too much to bear. "I'm not, sir." 

"You mean to tell me you call that tiny thing an erection?" he laughs. "The little toy I've got in you is far bigger than _that_. Dear God, I thought they only let real men in the armed forces, not sissy little boys." Rolf's already throbbing cock twitches in response, making Nelson laugh again. "Well, at least it works, eh?" 

Rolf glances furtively upwards; Nelson's hands are busy slowly undoing his jacket, one gleaming button at a time. "Let me tell you something, son: mine works too, and I'm getting tired of expending all my energy on you. It's time you showed me some gratitude." Nelson tosses the jacket across the chair behind him, and starts on the starched white shirt, button by slow button. "And you should be especially grateful, Private. Do you know why?"

"Because you're going to let me suck your cock, sir?"

"Don't be vulgar," Nelson snaps. "But you're not entirely wrong. You're going to see what a real man looks like, and then you're going to suck it, and you're going to thank me for all of it, starting now. You may look at me."

"Thank you, sir." Rolf lets his eyes rove all over Nelson's bare chest and arms. The way Nelson stands with his hands on his hips shows off every muscle, from his strong shoulders, to his defined pectorals with the perfectly hard nipples, to his abdomen, where a dusting of golden hair trails downward into the waistline of his pants. Rolf's mouth starts to water as he thinks about where it leads, eyes fixing hungrily on the bulge under the blue fabric.

Nelson's hands work at unfastening his pants, pushing the material down just enough to expose his erection, rising proudly from blond curls. "All I'm going to say is this: you'd better make this good, soldier. If it's not good, I'm going to take what I want so that I do enjoy it, and you may not like it so much. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then get to work!"

"Thank you, sir," Rolf murmurs just before his lips close around Nelson's cock. He savors the heat, the thickness, the faint salty taste of Nelson's flesh, and starts moving his head in slow strokes. He sweeps his tongue along the underside as he pulls back, and suckles softly on the way in.

"What the hell are you doing, Private? I don't want you making love to me, I'm not your goddamn daddy!" A strong hand forces Rolf's head down, cutting off his involuntary whimper. Choking around Nelson's cock, his own erection is swollen to the point that it feels close to bursting. Nelson thrusts into him impatiently, using Rolf's mouth for his own pleasure, setting up a quick rhythm which Rolf falls into. Nelson remains largely silent, giving Rolf little feedback to go on, but when he scrapes his teeth lightly against the underside of Nelson's cock, it draws a groan of lust like always. 

Suddenly, Nelson seizes Rolf's head and pushes in, holding Rolf's face against the blond hair at the base of his cock. He can't breathe like this; tears spring to Rolf's eyes as Nelson bucks even deeper once, twice, three times, and comes in hot ribbons down his throat. No sooner has Rolf swallowed every drop, than Nelson pushes him away, breathing heavily. "Don't forget your manners, Private," he says, barely managing to keep his voice even as he comes down from his orgasm.

"Thank you, sir." Rolf is almost sure that Nelson will let him come eventually; he's painfully hard and can't keep his mind on anything else. His pulse beats heavily in his cock as Nelson tucks himself back into his pants. The commanding persona snaps back into place with the last button at Nelson's waist. 

"You haven't disappointed me again, have you?" he asks gruffly, circling again to Rolf's backside. 

The toy is still held snugly in place, thank God. "No, sir."

"Good. Bend over for me, and let's see if this delicate hole of yours is any worse for the wear," he sneers. The toy is pulled out, accompanied by an obscenely wet sound. "That's much better," says Nelson, rubbing slippery fingertips against Rolf's entrance. "Wide open and eager." Two fingers plunge into him all the way to the last knuckle; seeing stars, Rolf collapses down onto his elbows. He slides the third finger in alongside the others and twists slightly, setting every nerve ablaze.

In what feels like years but is probably mere moments, Nelson slips his littlest finger in; Rolf is stretched beyond what he had ever thought possible, but he can't keep himself from pushing back against the pressure of Nelson's hand. "You're not even ashamed of how much you want this, are you?" says Nelson, his voice hard as steel. "You disgust me." The dry sob that escapes Rolf's throat is so pathetic that he barely registers it's coming from him. And then Nelson crooks his fingers, massaging in just the right place. Everything around Rolf disappears in the wake of his pleasure; the waves of heat wash over him like purifying waters, and when they clear away, he is left huddled on the floor in a whimpering, sticky mess. 

Though his eyes are shut, he hears Nelson rising and cleaning himself off. "Well?" Nelson snaps expectantly.

Rolf catches his breath enough to whisper one last "Thank you, sir."

The soiled cloth is tossed down at him, as dismissive as the tone of Nelson's voice. "Clean yourself up, for Chrissake. I'm done with you." His footsteps recede, the door slams. 

Rolf uses the clean side of the cloth to scrub at his stomach, then lays his head on his arm and waits. Just on the other side of the wall, Nelson is shedding the cruel skin of the uniform, and soon enough he will return to coax him into bed with gentle hands, for a little tenderness and rest is what they both need, perhaps even what they deserve.


End file.
